Vegard lit the creature up again, setting its soul ablaze. Cooking its energy inside its dark form. Vegard laughed aloud. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun—had so much control and power at his fingertips. The energy surging within him felt practically endless. He confirmed it again with another burn of the bija’s soul. It writhed and twisted again. And then again.
He concentrated and peered deep into the creature’s soul.
“Let’s see what’s on your mind, beast.” His dark eyes closed as his consciousness sought the landscape of the bija’s soul.
The images that appeared before the warlock were not translatable. Vegard was transported to a realm of ash and jagged depths. Pits that dug further and further into endless rocky terrain. The bija roamed these tunnels looking for prey. Hissing and heaving its shadowy form through the mazes of mountainous rock and endless caverns.
The masters of this realm were horrifying monstrosities. Creatures that swooped down and snagged what they would, or burrowed from beneath and pulled life down into the solid earth.
Vegard remembered having nightmares reminiscent to this demonic place. An endless terrain of chaos. A darkness as sharp as a razor.
The beast had more memories. It was a frequenter of Vlero, the human realm. It enjoyed the soft creatures, but mistrusted the sickening magic users, and sharpened metals. The bija shuddered. It hated snow. Like piercing needles all over its bare demon skin.
“There we go.” Vegard grinned.
The warlock entered the jarro’s perception. The pain fell away from the bija. It pushed itself up and roared once more at the warlock standing a few feet away before it realized that light flakes of white were floating all around it. The Vlero ash. The cold sting of the human air.
It shook its shadowed form. The human was playing tricks. It decided to pounce and end this game. But which to pounce on? The bija was suddenly surrounded by ten other human figures. Each was a black silhouette, a shadow, stalking around it. They reached for it then backed away. They held weapons of sword and staff. The bija could remember these things from the past. Each disguised figure one it remembered encountering long ago.
The bija had had enough of this. It had three claws, two horns, one big mouth, and a demonic temper. It began to tear heartily into the foes surrounding it. Each one falling away, dissipating into nothing, as it made contact.
Vegard crept slowly through the waters of the grotto as the bija tore through the warlock’s phantasmal distractions. Each humanoid creature pulled from the distraught memories of the jarro’s past. Another trick Vegard was flinging out as he went. His abilities seemed to be so much more crisp and precise to him than any other time in his past. If it was this mysterious forest of the Mrkyr Brodir, the grotto forge that had sucked him in and turned his arms to blackened rock, the sudden appearance of this ebony sword, or a heightened state of survival that comes when in the face of overwhelming odds. He was not sure. Mayhaps it was all the choices. Who knows? All Vegard knew was that this bija-jarro was going to die in a moment and the beast would never see it coming.
Vegard snuck up from behind. The bija’s backside still trailing out from where it entered as if never ending. The bija gored another phantom which evaporated upon touch. Vegard reached out with his hand and torched the beast once more. The bija wailed and arched its back, its claws digging into the earth.
Vegard charged forward, splashing loudly.
The creature tried to turn its head in time to see its foe but Vegard was too close. He slid under one of the creature’s hulking arms, putting him in front of the beast, then plunged forward with all his strength. The claws didn’t come to bare. They were frozen in shock and pain at the bija’s sides. But the jarro was still not dead. Vegard shifted his grip on the pommel and drove the blade upward from stomach to as far as he could reach. The tip of the blade left the bija at around its pitch black neck.
The monster howled and wailed no more. Rather an odd clicking sound resonated from its throat and echoed throughout the grotto. Somewhat reminiscent to a chocking sound. The bija’s horned bull head descended slowly into the waiting arms of the warlock below.
Vegard felt a sadness emanating from the beast as its clicking lessened. A sudden realization of its mortality. Vegard couldn’t help but connect with the bija at this quiet moment after battle. The warlock’s art was a personal one. You had to feel your opponent to hurt them. You had to experience their past to haunt them with it.
He patted the creature’s enormous, thick skull. “Rest now.” And it did. The deep wound gushed with juices that were pulled upward like smoke before the entire body erupted and vanished from this plane. The subterranean forge snowed with the ashes of the jarro realm. The only clue that the beast had ever truly been there.
Vegard decided to rest in the warm waters around him. A moment of peace after such an affair. He placed the sleek blade that had felled the beast over his lap, studying its perfect smoothness.
“I should probably give you a name.” He said before noticing his charred black arms. Every bit of skin from his fingers to mid-bicep were stained like dipped in tar. The skin was not blistered like he thought it would be but smooth. His warlock healing had done nothing to the discoloration. He shrugged, suddenly feeling tremendously weary. “I’ll think on all this after a nap, maybe.” Vegard laid his head just above the water’s edge. “Blacktooth, I think I’ll call you. That sounds good enough.” As he fell asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Mrkyr Brodir
Vegard awoke to the sound of shuffling feet and splashing water. As he opened his eyes he realized he was laying in the cavern he had entered from. The waterfall with the hidden hearth was still eternally going. He pushed himself up from the pool.
“Was it just a dream?” He whispered. He froze when he saw he wasn’t alone. An old man with tanned, leathery skin was perched on a large tree root that ran through the cavern. He had a long ornamented beard and was bare-skinned except for an ornate leather kilt, sandals, and a wooden staff that looked to be just a broken tree branch with bits of fur and feathers on one end. “Who are you!?” Vegard got unsteadily to his feet.
A growl resonated in the cavern as a large brown bear strode around the tree root and planted itself defensively in front of the old sage.
“Relax, Wera. This Northman means us no harm.” The old man said, patting the bear on its furred back. The bear shrugged off the friendly pats and growled once more at Vegard.
“How do you know I don’t mean you any harm?” Vegard yelled. “I’ve been through too much to be murdered in a cave by some crazy naked man and his pet bear.”
“You wondered if the trial you experienced was just a dream, yes?”
“A conversation I was having when I thought I was alone. But yes.”
The man cocked a bushy eyebrow at the warlock. “A conversation you were having alone and yet I am the crazy one.”
“Look! What do you want, old man?” Vegard was still too tired to be dealing with some wandering fool.
“What do you want, Northman?”
Vegard eyed the odd pair warily. “I’ve come to find the Mrkyr Brodir.”
“Then I must congratulate you.” He held his arms out wide. “Your journey is complete.”
“Don’t toy with me. I’ve had training with the dark ones before. This…cave is not it. Unless you’ve fallen greatly since the years its been.”
The old man studied Vegard for a moment. He pat the bear once more. The bear again growled and shrugged off the pets.
“Not fallen so much as taken a step back from you peoples and your desperate need for…everything.”
“I don’t have a people.” Vegard replied indignantly.
“You are Northman.”
“The Northman treated me like I was diseased then enslaved me once my usefulness ran dry to them. I’ll repeat myself. I don’t have a people.”
“Fair enough.” The old man
shrugged. “Wera, may I ride your back into town?” He asked the bear. The bear turned to the man and snarled deeply. “Worth a shot, I imagined. Well, can you at least change so this Northman stops with his defensive posturing?”
The bear looked at the old man then to Vegard then back. It heaved itself onto its hind quarters then began to morph in front of their eyes. Within seconds the bear form had fallen away leaving a skinny, young brown skinned girl in its place. She looked to be almost adult, short and thin, with a thick bush of black hair sprouting from her head. That predatory scowl never left her face, though. She wore a thin leather garment that she adjusted with haste otherwise baring her to the stunned Vegard watching her.
She tightened the strappings on the back, pulled a pair of sandals that were tucked into the leather and put them on.
“Take your eyes off me, Northman!” She scowled.
“Come now, Wera. Most are not used to seeing a hver.”
“It’s not my problem what most people have and have not seen. I don’t like the way he gawks at me.”
“A hver…” Vegard muttered, looking stunned.
“What of it!?” Wera snapped back.
“Just didn’t imagine you could be so…small.” He looked the petite girl up and down.
The old man put his hand over his face. “Ugh, that surely will get her started.” He sighed.
“Small!?” She cried aloud.
“Come, both of you, come now!” The old man shouted. “The sooner we can finish this the sooner the greedy Northman can be on his way.”
“Greedy Northm…!? I thought I had told you…”
“And try not to forget your sword. You went through a lot to get it, I’m sure.” The old man lazily pointed a finger to the pool of water as he turned to leave. “Come on, you two. Let’s get going.”
The comment stunned Vegard. Sword? Sword!? Could it be… He realized that all his attention had been on the two strangers. He hadn’t a chance to think of the sword, the jarro-beast, the forge. Reflexively he looked down at his hands. There they were. Black as the night sky all the way up to his biceps. “It couldn’t be.”
He dropped to his knees in the water and fondled about. There. Out from the temperate pool of cave water he pulled, “Blacktooth.” He was breathless. It must have all happened. A trial by fire. A demon hound dead by his blackened hands. What in the hells was going on? he thought.
Vegard looked up and saw the odd pair leaving through the beaded entryway. There was no other way out of this cave—he would have to follow. Although, I do not have to follow right behind. He was cautious of the two but knew it was somewhat unfounded. If they would have wanted to kill him they could have done it while he was passed out and prone in the water. Not to mention, reminding him of his ebony blade. Still, over a year of slavery had made him wary of any people without a full understanding of their intent. And, as of the moment, Vegard had no idea what this old man and the cranky bear girl wanted of him.
He watched the runic beads sway back and forth. He could almost see through to the main entrance the pair had already gone through. He warily followed.
As he pushed his way through the beads he noticed the sun had set and darkness took hold of the forest once more, along with those mysterious purple lights that dotted the surroundings. He realized that he didn’t know if they climbed the rest of the statue upward or descended to the forest floor.
“Hey! Old man and…bear thing! Where did you…” His shoutings were interrupted when he realized he wasn’t anywhere near where he had entered. Around him was no statue of a large, round faced woman. Vegard stood in a forest clearing. Rugged stone steps covered in moss lead up to another level of the forest. The Giant Pines still grew everywhere but were coiled with wooden steps leading up to ingenious shacks and houses up in the higher branches. Bridges and walkways were constructed and woven between branches and homes. Behind him was the cave he had exited and the runic beads danced where he had gone through.
“A portal?” He mused. “Sneaky little bastards.” He cupped his hands and yelled. “Old man, where have you gone?”
The bearded man appeared at the top of the steps leading up the hill. “Stop your screaming, northman. You want to bring the sun about so soon?”
Vegard joined the man up top who lounged in the ‘town square’ on an animal skin, eating from a bowl of mashed something and picking at a small roasted bird. The hver girl had hoisted herself around a small statue with missing head and arms. She chomped loudly on a burnt leg and eyed the invader with open contempt. Everywhere Vegard looked there were remanence of some past, foreign culture. Dilapidated stone temples, overgrown stone walkways, and more of the mutilated corpses of statues decorated the surroundings.
“What is this place?” Vegard asked as he walked up to the pair.
“This is the village of the Mrkyr Brodir. As you were looking for.” The man said between chewing. “Not as you remember?”
“Why is that?”
“I told you. We moved away from the other cultures of Vlero.”
Vegard took a seat next to the man and began to help himself to the food. He continued to the eye the man, awaiting a better explanation.
“Apparently that wasn’t suitable enough for you?” The old man smiled. “Fine. You say that you were trained in soul manipulation, yes? During the war we trained a few from your side to become warlocks. Of course they hadn’t the time for the philosophy of it, the art of it, the culture.
No, they couldn’t be bothered with all that. They wanted the mechanizations for war. To siphon our peoples’ teachings and move on to its killing applications.” He had a gleam in his eyes that seemed resentful to Vegard. Vegard stuffed more meat into his mouth to keep his tongue busy. “Much like you experienced, after our usefulness had been used up we were reviled once again by the tribes. Downright open hostilities, even. The Mrkyr Brodir thought…wrongly, that perhaps us assisting in the war effort would bring about a new age of understanding for our people and yours. We were mistaken.” He drank deeply from a bowl at his side. “I am Mohin Valuk, by the way. So if you could stop with the yellings of ‘old man’. I do not need to be reminded of my age.”
Mohin sat back and began to enjoy his beverage on its own. Wera, the hver, continued to pick relentlessly at every morsel of meat on her bird leg.
“So they murdered your people?” Vegard swallowed.
“Many, yes. The ones that wouldn’t help in unlocking more of our arts for their use. Seems that rather than achieving peace they were already mobilizing for more destruction. There was no good side to that war. Just a culture of peoples claiming all land as their right…so long as they could control it with martial strength.”
“War mongers.” Wera growled through her bone.
Vegard sighed and took to his feet. “And this is the reason you will not train me. Thank you for the history lesson but I guess I’ll be on my way.”
The man laughed merrily. “I have denied you nothing, Vegard.”
Vegard’s eyes went wide. “I do not remember telling you my name.”
Mohin leaned forward, pouring himself more golden wine, and eyeing Vegard deeply. He tapped the side of his spotted, bald head. “I am warlock, Vegard. Like you.” He dismissively waved his hand about. “Well, not quite like yourself. You were taught to be a tool of war. Mine was more of a religious and cultural upbringing. But all the same. You have been ostracized by your people. The Mrkyr Brodir have been ostracized by everything.” He smiled.
“I still do not trust the northman, master Mohin. His blood is still of his kin.” Wera shifted her agile figure from one part of the statue to another.
“Oh, come, Wera. You do not trust anyone. This man was a slave much like yourself.”
“We have nothing in common! He fell from his people’s sensibilities and was punished for it. I was punished merely for being!”
“She needs a few seasons to begin the healing process with indivi
duals.” Mohin said to Vegard. Wera grunted and leapt from her perch.
“I will be finding more food while you let the northerner drain our supplies.” Wera scoffed as she ran off on all fours as if she were still in animal form.
Vegard sat in silence and ate. The obvious disdain the girl had for him perturbed him very little. He was used to being reviled. He licked the grease from his dirty fingers, drank from the gold wine, wiping away the excess on his tattered and coiled sleeve.
“So, what is this place? All these statues, these temples? If you moved here a short while before then these must have been here already.”
“A lost race to Vlero, I would guess. The few undesecrated pieces we have found show features I am unfamiliar with. I imagine a great battle took them. Again…if I had to guess. It is merely home to us now.”
“You say ‘us’.” Vegard gestured to the forest ruins. “Where are all the rest?”
“Hiding. From you, northman. Do not let it bruise your feelings. Their experience with the outside races has not been a pleasant one, shall we say.”
“I do not bruise easily. Or care, for that matter.” He tossed a discarded bone to the grassy floor. “So, if you’re not against training me, I’d like to get started so I can be on my way. I have a nagging goddess on my heels and a merchant that needs murdering.”
Mohin’s eyes glinted, the purple hue of the enigmatic torches giving the old warlock the appearance of some other-worldly demon. “But of course. The gods of Storrhale and the conflict for complete supremacy is at hand. And Flaro Rei’Lind casts her last chance on a meager and battered soul to usurp the plans of a god aligned with devils.”
Vegard squinted in confusion, he shook his knotted hair about. “How can you know so much, old Mohin?”
“Old Mohin?” The man laughed. “Well, I suppose that is a start, although…just Mohin would do. If you are this slow to learn it would take me another lifetime to train you proper.” He sat up. “I know because I have seen them. These powers of ours can be used for knowledge as well as destruction. And as far as training is concerned, I have already done what I could for you.”
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 8